


Goodbye, Wait, Hello

by PassedThroughFire



Category: Critical Role (Web Series), The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Kravitz Backstory, Poison Mention, Sickfick, Whump, blood mention, canon character death, kravitz whump, mention of vax, stab mention, tw death, tw doctor mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-24
Updated: 2020-11-24
Packaged: 2021-03-10 01:34:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27695623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PassedThroughFire/pseuds/PassedThroughFire
Summary: Kravitz was sick. He knew. Hell he probably knew better than anyone.ORKravitz's death, meeting the raven queen, and taako
Relationships: Kravitz & The Raven Queen, Kravitz/Taako (The Adventure Zone), kravitz & his band
Comments: 2
Kudos: 32





	Goodbye, Wait, Hello

Kravitz was sick. He knew that. Hell, he probably knew it better than anyone.

He had known it the first day when that overwhelming sense of dread had set in. He remembered how he’d pushed through, how he’d gone over the sheet music, how he’d practiced the chords with the band until it had gone right. How he’d walked to his tent at the end of the day feeling like he was holding up the sky, rather than his own body.

He remembered trying to keep it a bay for a week, until he’d collapsed in the middle of rehearsal, convulsing. 

He remembered waking up in Kaylie’s tent, far from a healer of any sort. He didn’t have the money for that, all the money from the last show had gone towards instrument repair, or paying outside tutors or food. He remembered how Dimeana had yelled at him, telling him to actually get sleep and water and to let the band take care of him for once. He’d obliged for fear of missing the next show.

He missed the next show.

Rather than getting better, whatever virus had him in its clutches just seemed to get worse. He would stay awake at night, pouring over sheet music, and during the day he’d sit in a chair, watching the others practice. He itched for his fiddle. Kere was a wonderful player, there was no doubt about it, but damn he missed the feel of the strings, the bow perched between his fingers, the weight under his chin.

There was one night, one, where the others were dead asleep, tired from their most recent performance, and he crept out of bed, plucked the violin and bow from the case, and shakily walked out into the woods to play.

His movements were shaky, he missed notes and played the wrong parts in the wrong order.

He loved it.

He felt alive for the first time since he’d gotten sick.

The next morning he was coughing blood.

Despite his protests, the band managed to scrape together enough funds for a doctor. Not a healer, no, there wasn’t enough for that, but a doctor. A doctor could at least tell them what was wrong, what to do in the absence of a healer. 

Lung disease. How originally named. Kravitz had rolled his eyes, but as soon as the doctor had put a name to it, he could hear how he wheezed, how rough and disgusting his coughing was. He could feel the way air seemed to rattle in his chest, and how each breath was like breathing through a cloth.

The doctor told the band how to care for their conductor since it was obvious he wasn’t taking care of himself. She told them how to get cleaner water, what soups and herbs were good for this sort of ailment.

She couldn’t tell them what to do without Kravitz.

It was a few weeks after the doctor’s visit when Kravitz stopped walking.

It wasn’t that he wouldn’t, it wasn’t for a lack of trying, and his legs could still move, he just couldn’t do it anymore. It felt like trying to lift a boulder with his pinkie every time he moved. 

He didn’t come out of his tent anymore. The others came in to see him, play for him, tell him stories of their shows. He smiled when they did, and let the smile drop when they didn’t.

Kravitz was not proud of his last week.

He was weak. Not just physically but mentally. He’d cried, oh how he’d cried. He’d begged for Raja to stab him, or for Cypher to poison him, to please just kill him, end his agony and let him be with his mother.

He had pleaded with Charlie that they leave him behind, that they go and live their lives, to stop taking care of him.

None of them had listened. They’d simply held him until he cried himself to sleep. They made sure he ate and drank, and slept.

He didn’t deserve them.

On Kravitz’s last day, Vegg carried him outside, propping him up against a tree so the band could play for him.

None of them had seen the troll.

Kravitz had watched his friends go pale, and he’d barely noticed as the troll had reached down, plucked him from his spot on the grass, and lifted him into the air.

The last thing he remembered from his life was a wide-open maw and the screams of the band.

There was pain, agonizing pain. 

And then there wasn’t anything.

* * *

Kravitz was dead. 

He woke with a scream. Oh god what happened, the troll, the others, where was…

He paused.

Kravitz was standing. He was standing in some sort of… expanse of space.

Shit.

So that was all real. Not another fever-induced dream. On the bright side, his chest didn’t hurt anymore.

“Hello, my Conductor.”

Kravitz jumped, turning around and coming face to face with a tall woman, a feathered cloak hanging off her shoulders. A man with wings walked next to her, holding a scythe.

“Hello, oh, oh shit you’re-”

“He’s a jumpy one, my queen, is he not?” The winged man chuckled, twirling the scythe. “Shall I take this one, or you?”

“I can handle this, my champion, but I thank you.”

“Very well my queen.” The man bowed and left without another word. Kravitz turned back to the woman. The Goddess. The Raven Queen. He knelt, not knowing what else to do.

The queen chuckled. “Rise, Kravitz, I am not here to claim your soul for the astral sea. I am here with an offer.” 

Kravitz looked up and saw that she was holding another scythe out to him. 

“An offer?”

“Your life was cut short before your time was to come, and you suffered needlessly. For that, I offer no apologies or condolences. Think of it as... A full-time gig.”

Kravitz looked to the scythe, then back at the queen. He understood now. The winged man had held one just like it. The grim reaper, always depicted with a scythe. He knelt once more, taking the scythe in his hands. His pajamas shifted into neat black robes. 

“I think that sounds quite wonderful, your majesty.” 

* * *

Kravitz had seen a lot. He had seen necromancers and liches and cults and betrayer gods, old golems of earth and fire attempting to rain hell upon the material plane.

He had seen demons and angels and too many depictions of himself to count.

He had seen the grand relics. And their destruction. He had seen the moon base, he had seen the astral sea rise more than he’d ever known in the past 12 years.

But this.

“Hey, thug, what’s your name? I’m about to tentacle your dick!”

This was new. 


End file.
